Then when I got here, I was handed my first payslip in what feels like forever (unpaid sabbaticals are wonderful in theory, until you have to buy Christmas presents). I think I finally understand how that kid felt when he got a note from Maurice Sendak: I loved that payslip so much I nearly ate it.

Then this afternoon, I have a post up on A Practical Wedding, which is always something of an honour. This week they're discussing the joys of navigating the festive season as a married couple, and Meg herself actually asked me to write something for it (I think she just likes Scottish people, or something?). I may have saved her email in my 'Exciting' folder, but I couldn't possibly confirm. You can read my post here, if you're so inclined.

And THEN, on Saturday, Blonde Bridesmaid is getting married! I think I'm more excited about her wedding than I was about my own at this stage. Back then, I was busy juggling families and solving problems and oscillating between "HOLY SHIT I'M GETTING MARRIED!" and "WHAT IF PEOPLE DON'T LIKE MY CENTREPIECES?!" It turns out that bridesmaids don't need to worry about any of that nonsense. All I need to worry about is how I'm going to fit a pair of thermal long johns under my dress without the bride noticing (forecast is sunny and cold cold cold) and making sure the lovely Lillian and Leonard catch my best side.

If that's the worst I need to worry about this week, then I think I'm doing pretty well.

*Frantically grasps every wooden thing within arm's reach*


So tell me, how's your week going?


Image by David Sims for American Vogue, May 2010

Earlier this week I wrote a post for Any Other Woman's A-Z of Getting Married, called M is for Mrs. (If you haven't read the post yet, go and do it now. I'll wait.)

It's a little-known fact - and by little-known, I mean it's probably only known to me, my husband and a handful of internet shopping database administrators - that I am not a Mrs. I am a Ms. Well, I'm a human being first and foremost, but if you wanted to write me a letter or invite me to a party or sue me, Ms is how I would prefer to be addressed.

I used to be a Mrs. When I first got married and took Fin's surname, I changed my title to Mrs at every single one of the 6,745 different places I had to change my name. I just didn't think about it. I was married, I'd changed my name, I was a Mrs. We even had Mr and Mrs his'n'hers mugs. What's to think about?


And yet, every time I saw those three dreaded letters before my name, I winced. Something about it just felt wrong. In my mind, "Mrs" was only for teachers and mums. And "Mrs MyNewName" was specifically for Fin's mum, who also happens to be a teacher, thereby confirming my hypothesis. A 26-year-old with no children and a six-week backlog of unironed washing in her spare room had no business being a Mrs. No business at all.

I thought I'd get used to it, but instead I found myself disliking it more and more until one day, boom. There it was. The solution had been staring me in the face all along, right there in every drop-down box on every website that had ever guzzled up my personal data for its own nefarious purposes. All I had to do was scroll past 'Mrs', and click 'Ms'. Sweet, sweet relief.

So now I'm a Ms, and I feel like me again. I wish I could give some deeply feminist reason for the change, but the truth is that "Mrs" just made me feel old and frumpy and uncool and all those other sexist adjectives we tend to dump on wives and mothers. Ms, on the other hand, is sassy. She's sophisticated and a little bit mysterious: is she married? Is she single? Is she a SPY? Oh, the intrigue!


Of course, in choosing Ms for myself, I pass no judgement on women who embrace their Mrs-ness. I hope we know each other well enough by now for that to go without saying. And the reason my decision to be a Ms is little-known is because WHEN DO YOU EVEN USE YOUR TITLE ANYWAY? Never, that's when. Or only when buying fripperies on the internet.

In other marriage-related news, Blonde Bridesmaid's wedding is now just two weeks away. Two weeks! Squeal! So this weekend will mainly be spent on bridesmaid duty. I'm sure you’ll all be delighted to hear that The Giant Pineapple Dress Of Doom has arrived and been trimmed within an inch of its life. I no longer resemble any type of fruit in it, which is all you can really hope for in a bridesmaid dress, isn't it?

Happy weekend, folks.


Lara Stone does sexy housewife, shot by Mert & Marcus for Vogue US September 2010 via Fashion Gone Rogue

Here's how it works:

If you're single, you're a Miss.

If you're married, you're a Mrs.

If you're a big hairy feminist, you may be a Ms, but this is best avoided.